


Dust driving.

by drinkginandkerosene



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Break Up, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkginandkerosene/pseuds/drinkginandkerosene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They drive out the city, so why can't they just keep going?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust driving.

It’s too hot to stay still. Of course, it’d help if my legs weren’t clad in jeans but hey, shorts weren’t quite my thing. I hang my legs out the window, and the smoke from my cigarette follows them. 

We’re driving aimlessly.

I look over at you, and you’re heartbreaking. Usually, your lips would be curving in a smile. And why wouldn’t they be? The stars are bright (at least the desert grants us that much), and there’s few places you love more than the freeway. I know that. So why are you staring ahead? Why isn’t the radio on? Why aren’t you even looking at me?

I start to babble.

“Why can’t we just carry on driving, you and me? Just us and my guitar. I could write poetry and you could sing. We’d make money somehow. We could travel around europe and see all the pretentious things I love and I’d suffer through all the ‘fun’ things you like even though I hate dancing and heat and people, but it doesn’t matter because of you Brendon-“

“Ryan.” 

Your voice stops me like a brick wall, and I look at you again, flinching at the cigarette burns my fingers. I toss it out the window. My fingers are blackened and trembling.

You pull over, and dust swirls around the tires. It’s an old car, shitty and perfect. Chipped red paint and no bumper. We’ve had road trips in here. Fucks, quick and sweaty. Arguments. Never a break up.

You finally look at me, and your eyes are hesitant, gauging something. Deciding. 

“You can’t do this. You can’t run away. We’re not going to run away. Grow up. We’re gonna live and die in this shitty town. It’s not bad, it just is. I’m going to marry a blonde, have kids, have a house. This life… It’s not to be snorted at. I’m sorry if it isn’t good enough for you. But you’re a coward. Too scared of having to act like someone functional. And I want to be okay. I don’t want to be deep if it means I’m sad. I’ll be shallow and happy. I won’t enjoy rain, I’ll enjoy sun. I’ll prefer tv over books. I’ll -“

I cut him off by breaking eye contact. I look out at the desert. The moon is painting the sand silver, and it looks like great waves of dust. Just dust and shadows.

“I’m sorry Ryan. I’m picking happiness over you.”


End file.
